


night

by rebelscum



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Slight Canon Divergence, soppy declarations of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 16:17:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11256537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelscum/pseuds/rebelscum
Summary: She knows she shouldn’t. She knows they only met a few months ago; that, despite spending night after night with him, and even being pregnant with his child, she knows next to nothing about him. She’s fucking stupid. Oh, so fucking stupid, but as his chest rises and falls lightly to the sound of his steady heartbeat, she cannot help herself.





	night

**Author's Note:**

> this is sickeningly fluffy, and i'm cringing reading it back, but i wrote it straight after the finale when i was very emotional so please forgive me. slight canon-divergence regarding the end of the season finale, and spoilers through episode ten. this is my first work on here, so i apologize for any mistakes. feedback would be greatly appreciated. xx

It’s raining – a Friday, she thinks – the night she tells him. She thinks this only, because her mundane routine makes it increasingly hard to keep track of days. It would’ve been a day of relief, before; a day to go out, to get wasted, to celebrate the onset of the weekend. Now, a Friday can very well be a Tuesday or a Saturday. It makes no matter.

The rain pounds as she lies still in Nick’s bed, his soft sheets caressing her skin, his warm breath on her neck. She’d always found a comfort in the rain in her past, and this hadn’t changed. It reminded her of growth, of life, of the progression of time; now it reminds her that some things can’t be changed by any human power. That nature is steady and persistent, unwavering, despite the corruption of humanity.

Nick’s eyes are shut, but she can’t tell if he’s sleeping, or if he’s just pretending to sleep. She finds it difficult to sleep now, especially in such a tranquil manner, but she has no idea whether Nick is haunted in the same way she is. There’s no sign of disturbance or disruption in his sleep, there’s just hushed exhalations and perhaps even the flicker of a smile on his face. He looks content, and at this June doesn’t know whether to feel happy or envious or _slightly fucking terrified_.

She extends her arm to stroke his jawline softly with her thumb. It barely makes contact, and yet within seconds, his eyes flutter open, affirming her latter speculations; he has been faking it. She finds solace in this, but also some heartache. She wishes Nick was immune to the pit of anxiety and concern she has so long suffered, but he isn’t. She knows nobody is; not Nick, not Serena Joy, not the Commander, nor the psycho who created this goddamned mess.

“Hey,” he says. His voice is soft, barely a whisper, so much so that the rain would drain it out if his ear wasn’t mere centimeters from his mouth.

“Hi,” she whispers back, and the irony of using such casual greetings from before isn’t lost on her. Now, they’re all they have from their past lives that they can get away with. June’s, anyhow; she still knows next to nothing about Nick’s. This idea unsettles her, at least until she remembers that perhaps his is something she doesn’t want to know. Ignorance is bliss.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, and his hands are in her hair now, massaging her scalp gently.

“I’m thinking about tutus.” Nick raises an eyebrow at this, and June smirks slightly, until they’re both quietly snickering at the sheer arbitrary nature of the statement.

The moment passes, and she carries on; “It’s my daughter, Hannah. She used to dress up. Sometimes she was a fairy or a princess, sometimes she’d be a superhero or a warrior. But she loved dress-up. And she loved the rain, too. They were two of her favorite things. I bet she’s happy right now.”

Almost instinctively, Nick’s palm finds June’s stomach, placing it on the soft curve where she’s just starting to show. She sighs deeply, and the room is dark, but she swears she sees Nick well up slightly at her words. It’s strange, as he rarely shows strong emotions even around her. He’s never cold, but somewhat distant, as if he’s an onlooker in his own life. She likes to think this is only because emotions are forbidden and unthinkable if you want to survive in this new world. She also likes to think she transcends this slightly, cracks him if only for a minute. She could pretend that it’s just a power trip; that having the ability to get through to him means at least she has that power over someone. She knows the reality is far less astute of her; that she’s somehow, among this chaotic existence, found the time and the energy to develop feelings for guardian Nick Blaine.

_Feelings_. She chuckles slightly despite herself; it isn’t a remarkable word, and yet in this context, she’s never quite understood it. Feelings could mean anything, and yet its true definition is implicit. She knows it when the hyper masculine jackass confesses it to the shy nerdy girl love interest in the movie, stilted but still somehow romantic because _who knew such an asshole could feel something like this towards another person?_ Most of all she knows it now, has known it for a while, an ever-present thought in this dimly-lit room lying beside him, and just as much in others.

When one has such a realization, they ache and they ache to express it as such, despite the potential (and in this case, very likely) repercussions. It’s something she’s struggled with for a while now, but it has yet to come to fruition. She knows she shouldn’t. She knows they only met a few months ago; that, despite spending night after night with him, and even being pregnant with his child, she knows next to nothing about him. She’s fucking stupid. Oh, so fucking stupid, but as his chest rises and falls lightly to the sound of his steady heartbeat, she cannot help herself.

“Nick.” Her voice is bolder, firmer than she expected, and he turns his head in a non-committal way, unaware of the gravity of her following words.

“Hmm?”

“God. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“What is it?” he hummed, his voice thick with sleepiness.

"I..." she stutters, and Nick sits up. He's holding her gaze so seriously, so intently that for a moment she thinks she'll never doubt his intentions again. Right now, it's crystal clear.

"June," he says. His voice is low, but there's a certainty to it, reassuring her.

“I love you,” she whispers. Her voice is so soft, a stark contrast to before. For a second she thinks he hasn’t heard it, but oh, wait, no, he’s definitely heard it, because his body tenses up slightly, his pulse increasing rapidly. “I know. It’s dumb. I’m dumb. Because, you know, we haven’t known each other that long. And not even that, I just know hardly anything about you. But being here in this room with you makes me feel safe despite being in more danger than I’ve ever been. And when I’m here with you, I think despite everything, I could be okay staying here, like this, for the rest of my life. It’s fucking crazy, I know, but I love you. I’m in love with-”

It’s at this point during her painfully prolonged, where-the-fuck-is-this-headed ramble that he cuts her off by kissing her. It’s tender but firm at the same time, and somehow this conveys everything she thinks he wants to say, but he says it anyway.

“I love you,” he whispers against her skin, and she breathes a sigh of relief, but he doesn’t stop there. He peppers chaste, hot kisses all over her face and body, repeatedly whispering those words, and June doesn’t think she’s ever felt so loved, so valued. His eyes meet hers again, before he cups her face leaning in to meet her lips with a gentle kiss. It deepens, but then she lets out a quiet giggle slightly despite the tears surfacing, and they break apart. Nick wipes her tears away before leaning his forehead against hers, and they laugh from the sheer catharsis of the moment, and wow, she can’t imagine ever feeling such elation in Gilead, but she doesn’t want it to go away. Not now, not ever.

“We should sleep,” June says quietly after moments of comfortable silence.

“Or we could do other things.” His voice is raspy. June smiles. She’s tired, and it’s late, and it’s as dangerous as ever, but she doesn’t care. She’s being naive and reckless, they both are, and they know this, but sometimes that’s better than the alternative. June knows, sometimes, it’s better to die and feel something than to survive and feel nothing. 

And so indeed, they feel, and the rain continues.


End file.
